


Perennial

by Debate



Series: Our Love is a Forest [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Merry Memori, Post Episode: s04e03 The Four Horsemen, Reunions, Science Island Squad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 00:34:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17172482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Debate/pseuds/Debate
Summary: Emori and Murphy reunite and adapt to drastic change through the means they are allotted.[Post 4.03 The Four Horsemen]





	Perennial

John kicks out the fire, his hand still on her arm. His grip is strong, but there’s an almost imperceptible tremble in his fingers. Whatever he learned today spooked him. 

It spooks her too, when he starts explaining. All the people who had died in Arkadia, a fire eating them up from under their skin. The same fire that has already poisoned the bugs and fish, that will eat the Earth up and spit it out, dead and desolated. 

“The Arkadians are figuring something out though,” John says next to her as they move down the road, the moon and stars just enough to see by. “And we’ll take advantage.” His confidence in those people surprises her. In her memory, he’s always described Skaikru as elitist and largely incompetent. The faith he’s been demonstrating in them the past couple of days doesn’t fall in line with that. 

But measuring Skaikru against the alternative he’s described makes them the clear preference.

“It won’t be easy,” she says, so as to not concede anything, but also to recognize that his stance is valid. 

“When is anything?” he responds, but with a note of humor. He reaches for her hand, so that they’re clasped as they continue to walk. “We’ll survive.”

There’s a sureness in his voice, the same as there’s a sureness in her steps, despite the dark and unknown that surround them. She stops, catching his wrist. 

When she kisses him, it feels like the first time in a long while. The first proper one at least, with one hand in his hair, and their lips catching. It’s not like how she remembers kissing him in the temple, not like watching herself through a water of a stream, far away and murky. It’s like how kissing him should be, exciting, reassuring. 

“I missed you,” she says when she breaks away and puts her feet flat on the ground again. She means today, when she was sitting alone in the cave, but she means from long before that too. As if the chip wearing off compounded all the days where she should have been missing him and wasn’t. 

“Yeah well I’m not going anywhere without you anymore,” he says. There’s that flick of his mouth turning upwards, and his thumb running on the edge of her jaw, briefly. She’s glad he doesn’t see her care for him as soft or weak. She knows people who would. That’s part of why she favors John over the rest of them, she thinks. “C’mon,” he says, taking her hand again, “we still have a while to go.” 

They need to remain fairly quiet walking down a road like this in the dark, she’s not the only bandit in this woods. But at the right register their whispers blend in with the wind and the rustle of leaves overhead. John takes advantage and tells her what to expect of the Arkadians, as if she doesn’t know all his stories already. She wouldn’t say he’s eager to see them again, but rather just eager in general. Almost as if finding a balance between themselves and Skaikru is a puzzle he wants to crack. She can’t say she doesn’t understand, but she’s still not convinced Skaikru are worth the trouble. She still listens of course, cataloging the information as it comes and attempting to filter for John’s particular biases. 

Morning comes harshly, no soft glow slowly strengthening alongside the growing hum of insects or the twitter of birds, instead light breaks over the treetops in a single cut. She squints against the brightness. In the daylight there’s more speed in their steps than she can ever remember them having before. In the past they never travelled anywhere with urgency, never had anything more than a temporary destination in mind. Now each day will dwindle away without the promise of more to come. 

The trees thin the closer they get to Arkadia, and her fingers twitch in her glove. She hates how vulnerable they are, in the empty field Arkadia rests in. They’re easy targets to spot, especially from it’s intimidating walls. 

The whole structure is imposing really; it reminds her of Polis, with it’s crowds and tall structures and the noise of people that she can hear even from so far away. Skaikru and the clans like to pretend they’re so different, but they all build these little cities, with walls around them to keep others out. 

“I don’t like it,” she mutters, loud enough so that John can hear, but not quite so loud that he should feel the need to respond. He squeezes her hand, and she squeezes back, happy to put her energy into something other than the nervous shaking in her chest. 

He lets go long before they reach the gate, but the fortitude it gives her means her chin is still lifted by the time they get there. 

“Hey!” John calls once they’re within earshot, waving both his hands above his head to show he’s unarmed. 

“Murphy?” A voice calls back, and it takes Emori a moment to identify who it belongs to. She’s a young woman, younger than John, probably, with her hair in one long braid down her back, so different from the styles Emori is accustomed to. She’s armed too, although her gun isn’t raised, and her finger doesn’t rest on the trigger. A taller red-haired middle-aged woman stands beside her as they stride forward. 

“McIntyre, long time no see. You missed the party in Polis.” 

Harper McIntyre, Emori recollects. John had known her before he came to the ground, and had mostly neutral feelings about her. He had mentioned in passing that he didn’t think she was still alive. 

“You’re really gonna have to make up your mind about whether you’re sticking around or not,” Harper says, her tone judgemental. “I know the Millers let you in just last night before you ran off again. None of us have time to deal with your shit, Murphy.”

“Figured all of this end of the world business, you’d need as many hands on deck as possible,” John counters with an easy shrug, “and now you’ve got four more.” 

“Who’s she?” the woman next to Harper asks, and John’s eyes flick to her like he’s seeing her for the first time, which he might be. 

“Emori,” John answers for her, forced casualness in his voice. 

“What clan?” the woman asks, her eyes squinting at her tattoo as if she’ll be able to distinguish her based on it. 

“None,” Emori speaks up, for once not fearing the repercussions of answering that question. The woman hums, suspicious, and looks like she wants to say more before John cuts her off. 

“I’ve already talked to Abby,” he tells Harper, “we have an arrangement. So if you want we can wait here while you go track her down to confirm it, or you could just let us inside instead of playing twenty questions.” 

There’s a pause, as the two women weigh his truthfulness. Luckily John is very good with words. 

“You still suck,” Harper huffs, but she steps aside, one hand loosening the grip on her rifle. John smirks and winks at her as they pass, because he likes to throw sticks on an already roaring fire. Emori restrains herself from giving him a push forwards as an indication to keep moving. They really can’t afford to antagonize anyone, even in jest. 

From the inside, Arkadia is even stranger. It’s shape is noticeable from a distance, but it’s much more pronounced up close. The circle that stretches above all the other structures has people climbing all over it, the sound of metal banging on metal is very nearly overbearing. 

They don’t raise much attention as they walk through the community. It seems everyone is too hard at work to notice. Children whose legs haven’t yet grown into running transverse the fields with buckets of water in their tiny hands, passing cups to men with backs hunkered from hard work and woman with burnt faces. The dissonance and movement strike home how dire the situation is. The end of the world is truly coming. 

John leads the way into the metal structure, and it’s just as active inside, people rushing from place to place. No one stops them, and hardly anyone stops to look twice; not at John at least. One or two look at her with unease, although her hand is in its glove and tucked deep in her pocket. Their eyes linger on her face instead. 

Despite those few looks of distrust, they make it to the medbay without issue. There’s two people in the large room when they get there, and Emori looks to John, who also seems to notice the absence of all those bodies he had mentioned. The remaining sick woman is obviously not an Arkadian, with nearly healed rashes on her face. The other is an Arkadian man who seems to be taking inventory, sometimes stopping to pack away supplies. Jackson is his name, she suddenly remembers, he had been in the city of light, and in Polis. 

“Where’s Abby?” John asks, setting his pack down on one of the empty cots. 

Jackson doesn’t look before responding, “She’s with Kane, they’re trying to sort out details for the trip.”

“What trip?” John asks, his voice edging towards accusation and volatility. She reaches out, rests her hand on his lower back so the others can’t see, but he can feel it. His next exhale is more controlled, and it doesn’t seem like Jackson noticed his near slip up. 

Jackson has paused, no doubt wondering how much he can reveal. 

“Apparently there’s a an island lab with medical supplies that Jaha has been to. We think we’ll be able to synthesize nightblood there.” At this his eyes flicker over to the patient, who is following their conversation with her eyes, Emori has been keeping track of her out of her peripheries. There is a tremendous amount of strength in her arms, in the lines of her face, not even something an illness would take away. She doesn’t say anything, even as she knows that attention is being placed on her. There’s a grief about her mouth. 

“I’ve been there,” John says, “probably a better person to take you than Jaha considering that’s where he went batshit.” That gives Jackson pause, an uncomfortable crinkle around his mouth. Of course it would, he had taken the chip too. She glances at John’s composed face, the quick way he licks his lower lip. He knows it’s a good line. 

Jackson takes the radio off his belt. “Abby, it’s Jackson,” he says into it, “John Murphy and his friend Emori are here, apparently they know about the lab too.” 

They wait for a response, hardly any time passes before the crackle of the radio breaks through. “We’ll be down in just a minute Jackson.” 

Jackson looks eager to ask questions, but he reigns it in, going back to the task he had been undertaking before their arrival. 

“We want to be on that trip,” John says under his breath to her. She turns so her ear is to him while eyes watch the sick woman. 

“I agree,” she says quiet enough to match him. “What’s this about nightblood?” 

“I don’t know,” he says, and she can tell it bothers him that he’s been gone only a handful of hours and is already out of the loop. “Maybe they’re using it as some soft of medicine? Whatever it is we can get it out of Abby.” 

“My blood is immune to radiation, they want to make it for the rest of you.” It’s the sick woman, standing slowly from her perch on the cot. Emori shoots her a glare for eavesdropping on their conversation. 

“You’re a nightblood? Who are you?” Clearly she’s not Commander, but logically she should be, with the rest of them dead. 

“My name is Luna kom Flokru,” she says slow and lilting, and then, as if knowing her thoughts, “and I have no desire to ascend.”

Emori presses her lips together and says nothing more. There’s something unsettling about this woman, the steady way she’s looking at her maybe, or the grief still resting on her shoulders, threatening at any moment to tip her over. No one has that much composure unless they use it to cloak something more brutal. She makes no comments about Emori though, either too downtrodden to care about her presence, or uncaring to begin with. She’s clearly not the type to adhere to expectations. 

Another man enters the room then, his heavy footsteps distracting. His tattoo suggests he’s Trikru, but the hand he rests on Luna’s shoulder betrays that idea. He has dried tear tracks on his cheeks, and his hands are large and covered in dirt. Emori would wager it was from grave digging. Flokru leave their dead to the sea, but without it the ground is probably better than a pyre.

Jackson speaks quietly to them, at least in part tactful of their loss. But there’s an underlying urging towards the next step in the plan. 

Any illusion of the Arkadians being implicit in presenting their dominating strategies to reaching their goals is dashed when Abby and Kane stride into the room, Jaha on their heels. All standing with sure direction and assertiveness. She feels John stiffen next to her, and can feel herself standing taller too. The third adult stands a step back and to the left of the other two, but he’s the one her eyes follow. His head is bare now, as if he wants to emphasize his increasing age. She hates the softness in his face, the lack of reaction to the group of people assembled in the room. 

“John, Emori, it’s good to see you both,” Abby says, as if she knows her. “You’ve been to the island?” 

“Yes, John arrived there with me, and Emori was responsible for supplying the appropriate technology for...the project,” Jaha says with that haughty way of explaining he has. It’s clear he hasn’t yet seen reason to mention them. 

“Really? You let him back on the decision making team so quickly?” John says. The comment is directed at Abby, mostly, but Jaha seems to appropriate it for himself. He still has the overly calm presence about himself, like he’s still forgotten pain and anger and grief. Emori is comforted by the hate for him that sizzles under her breastbone. 

“In these times we must all do our part, John. I’m glad you see that too.” 

“Didn’t I tell you to go float yourself?” 

She presses the length of her arm against John’s. This is no place to make a scene, regardless the strength of his anger. 

“We’ve all made mistakes Mr. Murphy,” Kane interjects, with his hand presented in a stopping position, and his eyebrows raised in pointed emphasis, “That doesn’t mean we can’t make amends, and continue to help our people in the face of catastrophe.” 

John shrugs. “All I’m saying is maybe you don’t want him in the heart of ALIE’s fortress. Just a thought.” 

Kane and Abby turn to each other, obviously seeking guidance and confirmation from one another. But Jaha looks at her. 

She meets his eyes, sticks out his chin. He knows he can’t look at John, and now he seeks something from her. But there’s nothing he deserves, certainly nothing she’ll give him. 

_Say you’re sorry for getting my brother killed._ She urges. _Say you’re sorry for hurting John. Say you’re sorry for stealing my mind._

Foolish wishes. Skaikru, like her people, put little stock in apologies. Remorse and forgiveness are for people too weak to take the blood they are due. 

“I have a boat,” Emori says out of a desire to hear her own voice. To establish her value. A gaze and carefully constructed words from a disgraced sky-fallen leader won’t make her silent again. The harsh edges to her words make it clear she is barring his access. “It’ll be fast and safe.” 

Kane looks pleased, and Abby surprised. John nudges her with his elbow and flashes her with a smile. They’ve made the better offer. 

“That’s good news. You’ll be needed here Thelonious, especially if Raven goes with them. It seems we’re always short of engineers.” Kane says after a short moment of deliberation. He smiles a bit a her, and she remembers him smiling as they stood next to each other while making their way through the Polis tower. This version of him knows joy, even if only in small doses. “So where’s this boat?”

She explains where it is on the river, and Kane takes notes, talking to Abby about rations and personnel and strict time frames. Jaha slinks out, recognizing he is no longer wanted. 

“So we leave at first light tomorrow,” Abby surmises. Kane doesn’t look too happy about that, but he nods anyway, squeezing Abby’s arm as he exits. “You continue resting Luna, you’ll need your strength for tomorrow.” Luna lays down, Nyko’s hand on her shoulder, but Emori doubts Luna lacking strength will be a problem. 

Abby turns to them, tired but refusing to show it. “Thank you both for your help. Have either of you slept?” 

“No, we walked through the night,” Emori answers, grateful both for the opportunity to rest and to be alone with John. Abby nods. 

“I can show you a room. We’ll meet at the gate to load the rover at 5:30 tomorrow.” Abby seems eager for an excuse to leave the med bay for a little while so they follow her to a higher level of the settlement. “Unfortunately there are a lot of available rooms now,” Abby says, showing them to where they’ll stay till tomorrow. “The door doesn’t lock, but it should be enough for the night.” 

“It’s good,” John says shortly, “See you tomorrow Abby.” 

Abby nods once, offers a tight smile and leaves. John pushes open the door once she turns the corner, keeping it propped open just a bit after they enter. It’s remarkably small, with no windows, and a single chair and bed the only furnishings. John flicks on the room’s only lamp, casting the two of them and the left wall into half shadows. 

“You’re tired?” Emori asks, sitting on the bed. It’s softer than any place she can remember sleeping, but the blanket is so thin as to be almost irrelevant. She hates to think how cold it would get to be during winter in this metal fortress. 

“Sort of,” he says, sitting next to her. “My mind’s all wired, you know?” 

She rests her head on his shoulder. She’s tired. Hours had passed slowly waiting for him yesterday, until her eyelids had grown too heavy to keep open, but even then her sleep had been uneasy and unrestful. 

John kicks off his shoes. “C’mon,” he says, “you’re tired.” With slow movements he shrugs her off so he can take of his shirt and jacket, then reaches down to undo her laces for her. 

“John, you don’t have to,” she says, but he just tickles the underside of her foot in response. “Stop!” she laughs, scooching further back on the bed, and tucking her feet under her. “Uncalled for,” she says, as he situates himself next to her, pulling the blanket back to lie under. 

“Ah, but it made you smile,” he says as Emori lays her head on the pillow. The bed is narrow, hardly made for two people, but they fit, no space between their bodies. John stretches to turn off the lamp, and with a sharp click, the room blinks into darkness again, with the exception of the line of light shining through the crack in the door. 

John settles his arm under her shoulders after resting his head besides hers, close enough that she’s sure that their foreheads will knock together. 

The blanket may be too threadbare to insulate heat, and John’s circulation tends to keep his skin cool with fingertips like icicles, but she feels warm now. There’s a reason she couldn’t sleep last night. 

John turns on his side—it’s less cramped that way—and lays his other arm around her. His hand runs over hair, tugging mindlessly on the tied end of her bandana until it unravels. 

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, because he’s obviously restless. 

“Being back here,” he says, “It’s...I don’t know. I keep waiting for everyone to tell me to get lost.” 

“They won’t,” she says. “They need us now.” 

“And we need them,” he points out, his hand stilling. His voice is very tentative; he doesn’t know whether he’s okay with their new symbiosis yet. Emori doesn’t trust them, but they were never her people. She can understand John’s division. She had thought for a little while, after meeting him, that Skaikru was different. That they didn’t carry the same torch of blind hatred as the people on the ground, but she’s not so disillusioned now. In their cruelty and crassness they are hardly different. John knows. But if there’s any sort of kindness among them then he knows about that too. 

 

“Do you think this will work?” she asks. There’s no way that these people understand how rare it is to be a nightblood, how lucky you need to be. Emori has never been lucky, she’s not stupid enough to rely on it. Not now. 

“I don’t know,” John says into the dark—quiet, as if someone might catch the vulnerability through the walls. She strokes the back of his hand with her thumb to remind him it’s only her. “But if it does, we’ll be some of the first people to get it.” His hand lays under her shirt now, palm cold against her waist as he uses it as an anchor to pull himself closer to her. He swallows, deep enough for her to hear. “And if it doesn’t, the lighthouse bunker is there too. Enough room for the two of us.” 

“John…” she says, turning her gaze to his half-lidded eyes. His face is carefully composed but when she cups the back of his neck his jaw clenches and he allows the fear to shine in his eyes. Emori’s convinced there’s no place on Earth or in space that he hates as much as that bunker. “I’m hoping this nightblood works.” 

“Yeah, me too,” he says with that special kind of almost-softness he saves just for her. “But we’ll be together, so no matter what it’ll be okay.” It’s a worrying platitude, but one she likes the sound of, so she closes her eyes and turns herself into his chest. “I mean, the two of us? We could totally outsmart Raven and Abby. No problem.” 

Her smile breaks out against his skin. She’s missed his teasing jokes, missed his hands and his voice and his almost-softness. 

“Hey,” he says, like he’s checking if she’s asleep. She’s turns to look at his vague outline, all dark greys and near-blacks. The darkness doesn’t bother her though, she’s lived in it too long. “We’ve already survived the end of the world once,” he says as he returns to playing with the ends of her hair. 

“And we will again,” Emori finishes. 

John moves to kiss her, half a smile on his lips. This place is unfamiliar— it has a bed, and metal walls—but the way John kisses her is familiar enough to drown all that away. Like he’s both chasing and settling into her at once. His arm curled around her back and nose nudging against hers. 

“We should probably sleep,” John says as he pulls back 

“Then go to sleep,” she tells him, but not before kissing, quick, once more.

“Sleep well,” he says and brushes a strand of hair off her cheek. 

When she closes her eyes she listens to John’s breath even and thinks about two months. It’s enough time to cup in your hands, enough to slip through your fingers. Next to her John’s heartbeat pounds in his chest. Two months is also enough time to discover a new world, to begin a new life. To fall in love. It has to be enough time to keep it too.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for the memori holiday gift exchange on tumblr.


End file.
